


Not-Santa

by Eternallost



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: AU, Aged-Up Character(s), Banter, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Comedy, F/M, Home Invasion, Mall Santa Claus, Robbery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21968386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternallost/pseuds/Eternallost
Relationships: Violet Baudelaire/Count Olaf
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Not-Santa

“Not that we believed that a man who could fit the world’s presents into a single sleigh-“

“Carried by flying reindeer no less,” Klaus adjusted his glasses.

“Fake beard,” Sunny added.

“Could possibly exist.” Violet turned from the wide window of her stately home. And it was indeed her home, being of age to inherit it along with her parents’ fortune after their untimely and tragic deaths that summer. “But, what on Earth are you doing here after Christmas Eve?”

The man in the make-shift Santa outfit ran a hand over his polyester beard in thought. The red color of the suit was all wrong, like a faded newspaper comic. The hat was sloppily made, exposing a balding head amongst gravity-defying grey. His cheeks were not round and jolly, but pallid and hollow. One thing that this character and old Saint Nicholas shared in common were a pair of shiny, shiny eyes.

The man placed his hands on his bony thighs, settled atop long legs. “You orphans sure are fun at parties, aren’t you?” As the man leaned forward, his beard left his face to expose the stubble of yet another underneath. He straightened himself once more.

Violet was a tall girl; she’d always been taller than all in her class. Now, she felt unaccustomed to craning her neck to meet eyes with the Santa whose secret she had yet to reveal. “Who are you? How did you enter our home?”

“Came down the chimney, my dear,” he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and she shivered.

“You did not.”

“Did so.”

“It’s not physiologically possible,” Klaus contributed.

“Where were my milk and cookies by the way?” Not-Santa prattled on, “I had to go and fetch my own merriment.”

“And it smells like- Did you break into our parents’ wine collection?” Violet was aghast.

“They weren’t using it anyway,” Santa tossed a hand over his shoulder at the empty vintages.

“It’s not yours to take!” She stepped in front of the man. “I don’t know how you got in, or why you’re still here, but you need to leave, right now, or we’re calling the authorities.”

“Be my guest,” Not-Santa gestured to the phone.

“You’ve done something,” Klaus stepped forward, “to the phone lines, haven’t you?”

“Ho, ho,” Not-Santa said, “no. Why, I’m just your friendly Santa Claus paying a visit to your typical, needy, holiday orphans.”

“We may be orphans,” Violet spoke, “but we lack for nothing. And we certainly aren’t looking for handouts from strangers like you.”

“Ouch,” Not-Santa brought a hand over his heart. “Am I truly a stranger to you, Baudelaires?”

“Strange,” Sunny agreed.

Not-Santa glanced coolly at the toddler. “Have you forgotten the Christmas spirit? Has the smoke from burning through all that cash clouded your minds?”

“What do you want?” Violet’s hand itched for a fire poker.

“Why, I just want to spend Christmas with my three favorite orphans.”

“The way you say that makes it seem quite the opposite,” Klaus proceeded.

“I would have come here sooner, say, over the summer right before Violet’s eighteenth birthday,” Not-Santa spat in one breath, then sucked in air through his fake smile, “but my reindeer wouldn’t fly.”

The three siblings looked to one another.

“Who are you?” Violet’s voice was low.

“Santa,” Not-Santa smiled.

“You’re not Santa,” Violet affirmed. “This charade has gone on long enough,” she picked up the phone, only to have slender fingers prompt her to press it back onto the receiver.

“I agree,” Not-Santa grinned. “Far too long.”

“Klaus, Sunny,” Violet turned to her siblings, “I think Not-Santa and I need a moment alone.”

Klaus picked up his younger sister, “Violet…”

“Run along now, orphans.” Not-Santa looked to them, “Oh, but I wouldn’t go too far.”

“Go on,” Violet steeled, “I’ll be fine.”

Her siblings took one last troubled look and stepped out of the room.

“What do you want?” Violet hissed, her wrist still in his warm palm.

“What should have been mine,” Not-Santa returned the venom.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“This,” Not-Santa dropped her hand, fanning his arms wide to span the room, “all of this.” His eyes flickered briefly. “Maybe even you.”

“What are you talking about?” Violet’s eyes volleyed between his, made of coal. “Why the act? No one would believe that you were Santa.”

“An act,” he scoffed. “Oh, yes. You’ll find that it’s always an act with me, orphan. That’s what I’m good at. That’s how I survived.”

“Then you must have survived poorly because you’re mediocre at best.”

Not-Santa’s eyes widened momentarily with an intake of air from his nose. Then he cackled. “Hah. Never mediocre, brat.”

The two spent a moment examining one another.

“So, what will it take for you to get on your sleigh and ride back to the North Pole?”

“A charitable donation.”

“And who should I make it out to, Kris Kringle?”

“Cash.”

“Sorry,” Violet smiled, “I only write checks.”

Not-Santa adjusted his jaw.

“And if you’re Santa, as you say, you should be very happy with the amount that I provide. But, well, if you aren’t- all that charity will go to waste.”

“You’re a naughty little girl, you know that?”

“Am I?” Violet’s brows raised. “I suppose I am if I’m buying off Santa Claus.”

“Olaf.”

“Pardon?”

“Count Olaf.” His single brow shifted. “Make it out to him. The poor soul needs the money more than I do. Cash holds no value at the North Pole.”

“Dear me, and what do you pay the elves in?”

“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

Violet gave an incredulous laugh as she signed her name. Not-Santa held out his hand as she retracted the paper. “I can’t help but think there is a whole story here that I’ve missed out on. Who are you, really?” She squinted, “Is this some pseudonym? …Did you know my parents?”

Not-Santa swiftly grasped the check from Violet’s fingers. “I only swing by once a year, orphan. I’m a busy man.” He gave her a look over. “Maybe next year I’ll stop by to tuck you in and tell you a bedtime story.” He gave a genuine smile. “Or even sooner if this check won’t cash.”


End file.
